


c'est la dernière fois que je parle de toi en concert.

by Laeana



Series: not art, but chaos [2]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Artists, Breaking Up & Making Up, Character Study, First Meetings, Future, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Love Confessions, M/M, Musicians, Past, Questioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:15:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24428626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana
Summary: Entering the Academy was the best and the worst thing that could happen to me.Meeting you was unexpected.And losing you was fair.My voice couldn't reach so far.I was stuck on a wretched stage.And just when I thought it was the last time I was talking about you on concert ...
Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc
Series: not art, but chaos [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1763617
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	c'est la dernière fois que je parle de toi en concert.

**Author's Note:**

> playlist :
> 
> La dernière fois que je parle de toi, Kikesa  
> They'll like me when I'm sick, flatsound  
> Silhouettes, Of Monsters and Men  
> Black Madonna, Cage The Elephant  
> Eating Like Kings, Shawn James  
> Hand over hand, Roland Faunte  
> Love love love, Of Monsters and Men  
> Words, Passengers  
> Mess is mine, Vance Joy  
> I don't want to watch the world end with someone else, Clinton Kane  
> Stupid deep, Jon Bellion  
> Seen it all, Everyone you know  
> Death bed, Powfu  
> Tragedy is not the end, Joel Ansett  
> To build a home, The Cinematic Orchestra  
> Fast Car, Tracy Chapman  
> Honey, Eddy de Pretto  
> Start a riot, Banners  
> Money run low, The Score  
> Bleeding, Dotan  
> Now you're gone, Tom Walker/Zara Larsson  
> Missing home, Flora Cash  
> I love you, Woodkid  
> Ghost, Skip The Use  
> The Funeral, Band of Horses  
> Glorious, Macklemore  
> Born to die, Lana Del Rey  
> A thousand year, Christina Perri  
> Chateau, Angus and Julia Stone  
> Counting Stars, One Republic  
> Don't Matter, Derik Fein  
> Hold My Girl, George Ezra

I met him while I was playing the piano.

I remember being pressing the keys, playing an air of my composition, an air that was worthing no look from the drunkards spread around the scene. My dreams of big had taken a beating since I entered the Academy.

I remember seeing you enter the shabby bar in which I was refuging too often and I know that your pretty blue eyes scoured the room, looking for a seat, before our eyes met.

This only lasted one instant, a simple instant during which we were no longer a pathetic musician and a stranger that I would probably never see again but just two men whose hearts were beating in unison.

Then I lowered my head, back to my melody, in my own world, and never met again these pupils, which had lighten up at the entrance of another boy in this same bar. A group of friends, maybe more.

I made myself assumptions because I had nothing else. Because I stayed, unable to admit the love at first sight I was feeling and which would probably end up with me heartbroken like many of my stories. My songs were about unhappiness and never being enough.

I was unhappy and I was never enough. For them, for myself. For everyone.

Judged by all, crucified on this stage, I was putting my heart in my works that were worthing no more than a meager salary, or sometimes, often, nothing. To practice more than anything else, to try to become what everyone else is not. Finally, isn't that returning to the norm?

I stared at the burgundy curtains whose time passed. The floor under me was still creaking. My public ; waiters, drunkards, young people of my own age, too busy to laugh to pay attention, offered me some applause as my performance ended.

I then closed my keyboard, unplugged my synth and tucked it under my arm. Goal, to not drop it, I didn't have the money to buy a new one. I was disappearing from the boards, finally.

Staring one last time at the spectators, the stage, the bar, my beautiful stranger with azure irises, I sighed and dreamed of bigger, so much bigger. Always higher.

A whisper for myself, a simple observation.

"Back to darkness."

* * *

🎶There's nothing that I'd take back

But it's hard to say there's nothing I regret🎶

* * *

I sigh, pick up my things. Study music, understand its components. It's something that never ever interest me, because that's not how I write my songs. But I have to take these classes, I have to be good at it.

In truth, I have nothing to hold on to.

"Charles? Can I see you?"

My teacher's call makes me going back on my steps. Lewis Hamilton, a very famous musician. It is an honor to even be in his presence and to follow his classes.

"Yes sir ?"

"You have not returned the composition I asked you to do for the end of the trimester."

I cannot say that I went on many different routes but I didn’t like any of it. I cannot say that efforts, sleepless nights ended in failure. Again.

"I ... I didn’t succeed, sir."

"Look, this bothers me a lot. I think you really have talent and it would be a shame to ruin your year. Several contests are coming, I will therefore extend the deadline but you have to return it to me. Before the end of next trimester. "

His facial features are neutral but his tone remains severe. I can't believe his compliments. I bite my lip.

"Thank you sir."

I pick up my bag, slide it over my shoulder and head for exit.

"Charles, trust yourself a little more, okay?"

I don’t answer but go. I don’t feel good. I have few months left to find and compose a song that I would find adequate. It's hard.

It's hard to believe in yourself, it's hard to come back to an empty apartment and understand that you have wasted an entire trimester working on projects, thinking of ideas. Thinking of having found a muse.

Until realizing that said muse is only fucking messing with you.

And throwing away all the work I undertook, finding in it an insufferable blandness, hating it formally. A workbook laying in the corner of my room, of which I denied existence until now.

I reopen it with a wince. I applied for the contest at the end of the years, as my last hope. To not return to my shabby stage, a shred of paradise. I keep going there but I am still afraid of seeing him among the spectators. I don’t want to see him anymore. I want to draw to let go of this story.

I want my artistic soul back goddammit.

* * *

🎶Call me when you're ready to be real

Black Madonna, hallelujah🎶

* * *

It was an evening like any other. Which perhaps deserved more the title of first meeting but I liked to fix myself on simple ideas. Sometimes a look was worthing a thousand words. I hadn’t seen my stranger again, I had come to the idea that he was just a simple passer-by among many others.

The keys slipped under my fingers. The hard work costing me energy. No matter where I performed, I continued to do my best to please, to please myself too.

Simple credo.

I had to try to love myself a little bit, I knew that no one was going to do it for me, no one anymore.

I finished another of my performances and it was this cover I had so much trouble mastering that concluded my stage tour. Always the same tired spotlights, always the same worn curtains, the same squeaky floor.

I was here at home, somehow. Home. The only place that made no fuss about making me perform, me who were an apprentice musician. I had talent, I was convinced of it. Somewhere. I would end up finding it.

I rocked from behind, closing the back door after me. Stage Door. My enthusiasm subsided, my adrenaline too. I was nothing more than a miserable péquenot who was always looking for his dreams.

Shooting star and I would close my eyes, hanging on every little hope that might allow me to triumph.

Outside, between two stacks of boxes and a not longer really functional street lamp, a boy was standing, leaning against the wall, waiting for something. For me.

"You are an artist." he whispered softly.

I shrugged my shoulders, still carrying my synth under my arm. Heavy but I had been doing well, it’s been a while..

He advanced a little more under the neon lights, revealing his face. I recognized my stranger and his pretty eyes. I didn't know what to think anymore.

"It was not a question." he restarted in a voice still very sweet. "You are an artist. And I want to know more about you."

He had then taken the last few steps separating us, approaching himself dangerously close to me. But his pace remained unprovocative, attractive. Without any pretension. He reached out to me.

"Pierre Gasly."

I decided finally to grab it.

"Charles Leclerc."

* * *

🎶'Cause tonight, boys, we're eating like kings

'Cause we've all tasted death too much it seems🎶

* * *

"Charlie, Charlie! You're back at last!"

I put one foot after another and forced myself to enter. At the Refuge. A kind of clandestine show where artists of all kinds coming from the Academy were meeting. I have never particularly liked this place. You have to like rubbing shoulders with the least balanced people on earth.

I know that Pierre hangs there, hanged there, I don't know. Which motivates well my flight. I also know that Max is one of the undisputed stage masters, which leaves me no desire to stay there. Daniel warmly pats me on the back, welcoming me, seeming really happy to see me here.

I didn’t come for him. I came to see Alex and George, they asked me to.

"Are you gonna give us a performance ?"

"I have nothing on hand, I didn't come for that."

"Oh, really ? What a shame !"

I shake my head and cross the crowd to join my two friends. Alcohol is really present, I can smell it everywhere in the air. I drop on the bench next to them.

"Charles, glad to see you. How are your lessons going?" Alex greets me with a smile.

"Not so good. I don't have anything right now. I'm in the dark. I can't see myself going back to my old work ... so I don't know."

"Ouch."

They both know my misadventures, of course. I take a sip from George’s drink and he looks daggers at me. It's sweet. A cocktail ? The taste stays on my tongue. Strong. Raspberry.

"Why did you want to see me ?"

"Always the same thing."

I wince.

"I don’t understand why."

"You would really do me a favor, please !"

George's pleas don't make the matter any easier or even more understandable. I never thought facing such a proposal.

"But why do you want to paint me ?"

"You don't know how much others would dream of a model like you. I wouldn't change my mind about it, I need you ! You would save my project, please ! "

"But I'm ... I'm not sure of being patient enough."

My two companions shake their heads and I know I’m losing the fight when I meet their eyes. I sigh, pinching my nose, I know I will regret it.

"Alright, alright."

I need to change my mind after all.

* * *

🎶When I had nothing we still had each other

We were alone outside the time so hold me close when I start to climb🎶

* * *

Pierre had slipped into my routine with disconcerting ease. Whether it was accompanying me to the bar personally or waiting outside the buildings where I had lessons, he always seemed to know where to find me.

And I never refused to see him.

I still didn't have a damn idea of his age, of what he was doing in life, of who he was, but his presence brought me something priceless. Something I needed at all costs so he stayed with me.

The first time he leaned over my piano, a real grand piano, the only valuable item in my somewhat miserable three-room apartment and the only memory of a past time, he played the beginning of an air who intrigued me.

"I'm also a bit artist," he whispered.

Artist, not musician. There seemed to be a subtle difference who was made there. I always felt as much artist as musician. His blue eyes were lost and I understood that it was a difficult subject.

"Can you play something for me, Charlie?"

I just nodded and got down to my task, combining several keys, letting my expertise expand without thinking too much about it. After a few minutes, Pierre stopped me, shaking his head.

"No, with your heart. Not with your head."

I looked at him, questioning, and he moved a few steps closer to me, sitting on the thin seat that was struggling to contain us both. His arm was wrapped around my waist, his head resting against my collarbone. Soft warmth.

I started playing again. My voyeur pressed light kisses against my neck and this fleeting touch made me more soothed. This moment bringing me more pleasure than all those I had the opportunity to undergo since the beginning of my entry to the Academy. Once my air finished, I plunged back into his eyes.

"Say, Charlie, wouldn't you compose me a tune ? For me?"

* * *

🎶And those bright blue eyes can only meet mine

across the room filled with people that are less important than you🎶

* * *

The large fresco stares at me from where it is hanged. It's me. And at the same time it’s not me. I recognize my features, I recognize myself.

But there is a graceful air, an air of distress, a beauty that I don’t recognize. George has an incredible brushstroke and I don’t deny that this work is breathtaking. However, I just can't believe it.

I look away from a truth that I don't want to admit. My body stretched out on this semi-stretched sofa, my gaze lost in the distance. My hair is messy. I remember the three sessions it took to achieve this result. A sigh passes my lips.

I hope at least that this painting will earn him a good note, that's why I posed. Because I appreciate him and because I can't say no.

I turn on my heels.

" _ Lunar secrets  _ ?"

I hear the voice before assimilating it to the person. I freeze, fingers tight on my phone. That’s not possible, especially not today.

"... Charles? I thought you never came here?"

I turn around. I am desperately trying to stay calm. To compose a neutral air on my face. I always knew how to play very well, it's just one more round.

"I was leaving."

"And I thought you would never want to be a model."

"Well, apparently, people are changing. What a surprise."

I don't understand what he's doing here. I vaguely meet Pierre's blue eyes. A gleam of surprise shines there but I quickly disappear, without giving him the time to say anything else. I had my dose of hypocrisy.

I hurry and hurry. My gait is fast, my breathing is jerky.

I only get better when I finally lean back to the door of my room, in my apartment, in safety. Far from all the others.

I didn't want to see him again, I didn't want to see him again. Not anymore.

My eyes roam the entire room in the blink of an eye. From the unmade bed to the white window with wooden ledges on which I like to sit, to the desk covered with papers, to the black cupboards, to the walls, taken in cyan blue tones, to the photos, to the posters, to this shelf ...

I rush to it and sweep all of my moral codes. I take the pouch stuck under several books, dropping them in the process, and place it on my bed.

I sit there, finally opening it, my heart beating. All that I have been able to write, my inspirations under the stars, on a body barely covered by my own sheets, on evenings, joys, laughters, sorrows. On my moods and my emotions. On Pierre.

_ The appearance of a star fallen on earth. _

I almost laugh at my nonsense, making fun of my own ideas, but it stays inspired. It remains better than what I have done all these months and I know. I know that I can use it, that I can reuse it, modify it.

Bring it to the person I am today.

* * *

🎶But we just smiled cos sometimes words

Aren't the right words to say🎶

* * *

I quickly noticed it with him. This tendency to follow me but also to always have something else in the corner of his eye. Someone else.

"You're in love." I simply released this finding.

We were still in this sort of lost hole, this cellar which contained too many artists and not enough chairs. I wasn’t comfortable here but Pierre had insisted on coming.

"Sorry ?"

He was too ill-at-ease with this question and it told me everything I wanted to know. I was right.

I searched through the crowd of painters, writers who came to share their ideas, filmmakers, until I finally reached the stage. A voice accompanied by a piano. I knew very well who he was, this place was like a shelter, a second home for him. He shone there under a thousand lights.

Max Verstappen.

A varied temperament. Pierre had fallen under his spell and it hurts ... it hurts to think that my feelings were not mutual. That I remained, looking for an affection which was not, once again, returned to me.

"What prevents you from approaching him ?"

"Did you see him ? He's so ..."

Did I seem so easy to seduce ? Was I just a replacement and nothing more ? I let these words slide and swallowed them, not wanting to give up on my pride.

"So are you gonna stay and watch from afar ?"

"I'm sure he's in a relationship."

"With Daniel ?"

Oh, Daniel ... long acquaintance. Or at least someone he knew before landing here. A person who was close to Jules. This memory definitely freezed his smile on his lips. The heat became unbearable.

"They are close."

"They weren't dating in the last news."

I was ready to end all those nights that left me happy but torn apart. Pretending that sometimes his gaze was not lost elsewhere. My heart was already broken, making one or two more pieces would not be a game-changer.

"You should go see him."

I pushed him gently. His hesitation eventually fades but I didn’t stay there to see the rest. As soon as left alone, I headed for the exit, not paying attention to people around me.

It was only when an arm was passed around my shoulders that I noticed Daniel, a bright smile on his lips, who accompanied my exit.

"Charles ! So it's been true that you've been hanging out with him lately."

* * *

🎶You know you gave me all the time

Oh, did I give enough of mine?🎶

* * *

I wanted to test my knowledge so I did what nobody expected. I decided that I would do a performance at the Refuge. Nobody expects seeing me here, me either. It must be said that memories don’t help.

I don't like to think about before, my first attempts, but being compared to Max didn't particularly please me so I quickly gave up, realizing that it was his field, not mine. But I need advice and I will not be able to show my performance to everyone in my small apartment.

I'm also not going to go and ask my meager audience for advice in this bar which helps me paying my rent. I would not belittle myself.

So I take my portfolio with my best chords, knowing that I don’t need my synth since equipment is lying around all around the stage. It’s a good thing, because it's not the most practical instrument to take, even if it's always better than a real grand piano.

I hope not to meet Pierre, now that I know he’s around, I hope to be left alone. Daniel is the first to greet me, placed too close from the entrance as always. I always only see him here, sometimes, I wonder if he’s a real student.

"So many visits in such a short time, I’ll end up believing you’ve been replaced by an alien."

"Very funny, very funny."

The worst part is that my interlocutor seems satisfied with his own joke.

"Is there any whole to fill ?"

"Do you want to go back on stage ? Are you sure ?"

The fun made room to worry and, on the one hand, I’m almost touched by his concern. In truth, I would have preferred never coming back here. Desperate situations call for drastic remedies ...

"Yes. I can ?"

"I ... okay. Of course. Right after this one, you can go. Follow me."

Daniel's confusion quickly disappeared in aids of a neutral air, almost professional. I follow him to the back of the stage, a site strewn with cables and ragged walls, poor backstage.

I put my things on a chair, in other words, my jacket, and only keep my pocket with me. The partitions. Everything I need to face.

"The piano is always on the stage if you want. Well, it never leaves it rather."

A tacit look that we exchange. The Australian adjusts the collar of my shirt as a last resort.

"Good luck, Charlie."

I hate this nickname, hate everything it reminds me of. But I offer a smile to Daniel, thanking him briefly.

I set foot on the esplanade, forced to admit that it is in much better condition than the one of the bar. The floor doesn't even squeak under my weight. A microphone has remained in the center of the stage and I see people’s faces decompose when I direct myself, not towards the piano, but towards the guitar which has been left in the background.

My few practice times will be useful, although I still feel awkward with it. The room is less full than usual, almost empty, and I only notice it now.

Last trimester exams, year-end stress, upcoming contests, not everyone has the time to hang out here as often as usual.

I sit on a chair, as comfortable as possible, and take the guitar in hand. The weight is familiar, almost soothing.

I start to play.

* * *

🎶And if I lose it all, in the blink of an eye 

Like a fire burnin' out in the night🎶

* * *

"I don't want to talk about it !"

"Oh come on, Charles, stop doing that much drama !"

A cheap bottle of alcohol that we caught during our outing and a magical landscape that opened before our eyes. Daniel had a big smile on his lips, it didn't change his habit.

"Drama is more your thing ..." I mumbled, doubtful.

"We are only at the start of the year, I'm testing new styles !"

He seemed delighted while talking about his stuff, which did not surprise me too much. You could say what you wanted of him, it was someone who had theater in his soul. A true passionate.

"And so ?"

I shook my head.

"I don't even know if he's studying here, how old he is ... I'm an idiot. A foolish lover !"

"I didn't know you were such an inexperienced drinker."

"I'm not drunk ..."

The look my companion offered me was full of doubts but it was true. I was in a pleasant state where I cared less for myself. Where I felt a little outside but remained aware of my actions.

"He's a writer. And you're definitely not the first person to cross paths with him, you know."

"Nah, I don't know. Why hasn't anyone warned me? Why am I always the last to know ..."

"I'm pretty sure Alex and George tried to talk to you about it."

"He likes Max Verstappen."

Daniel smiled again, amused. I looked away and took another sip, launching the heat down my throat, contrasting with the rest of my body. I was cold. The wind was cool, I had no jacket. At the Refuge, the atmosphere was stifling.

There, on the roof of amphitheater B, which my friend had graciously opened for me, our legs were swaying in the void and we were facing the sky. The moon was almost complete.

"I know. I also like Max."

"And ?"

"And nothing. That's not what it is about today."

I leaned back, letting my back hit the ground. A shiver escaped me. I felt surprised when a jacket cover my upper body. The Aussie’s vest.

"Your lips are almost blue, cover yourself a little."

I didn't respond because it was just how Daniel was. Always taking care of others.

"On campus, some say that Pierre is cursed. He has talent for sure, but he never had the opportunity to prove his worth. In his first year, there was a scandal. Well, I don't have all the details, I was too ... "

Words seemed to have a hard time crossing his lips so I contented with making a vague gesture of the hand, not really giving it importance. I especially knew what it was like to have to talk about subjects we didn't want to talk about.

"He was caught cheating on his girlfriend with a guy apparently. And since then, he has been seen in the company of many other artists. We can imagine why."

"Are you ... are you sure of yourself ?"

"I'm not sure of anything. I just know what people said about him, he never tried to defend himself or explain himself. As if he didn't give a damn or as if it couldn’t reach him. "

I had bitten my lip, unable to really believe what had just been said to me. I was not the best at judging people but from the little I lived with him, Pierre never seemed to be someone of malicious intent to my eyes.

He even seemed a bit shy, sometimes overwhelmed by his own situation, very kind and helpful. Not an ounce of what had just been told to me.

"I don't know if it's true or not." admitted Daniel as he lays down beside me, turning his eyes to the stars. "But here, appearances can quickly be misleading."

He was talking about experience, I felt it.

"Just take care of yourself, Charles."

* * *

🎶What if who I hoped to be was always me?

and the love I fought to feel was always free?🎶

* * *

"Charles, can I see you ?"

The call makes me jump. I grab the rest of my stuff and walk over to Lewis' desk, who is just sitting there, legs crossed.

"I had time to listen to your work, to watch what you had done."

I returned it two days ago. I didn't think I would pass so quickly. A touch of nervousness crosses me and I force myself to remain calm. Take this curriculum in hope that one day I’ll be recognized. Everything can depend of one instant, of one lesson.

I'm still not ready to lose everything, not after so much effort, not after giving so much of myself. I want to be a musician.

"And I must say I’m impressed. I suspected your talent but what you did there is overflowing with emotion. You outdid yourself, well done"

Those compliments castigate me on the spot. Because I hate that it is so true.

"I don't know if you found yourself a muse for these works but they are exceptional. You went out of your comfort zone, it's something that few dared to do."

"A muse ?"

"I know that ... often people can inspire us, mark us. Sometimes forever. It can be people, places or memories, of course."

I nod, understanding his words, although his veiled air intrigues me slightly.

I think of trying something else, I think of the musicians I spoke to and asked for advice. My piano almost sulks me for having used it so little in my compositions. Using guitar, a capella.

"I hope you will present one of these songs at the Olympia. I know it is very soon but it would be a great performance."

"This is what I intend to try to do, indeed."

My teacher nods and the conversation ends. I shudder slightly, I owe this work to someone somehow. And I still haven't mourned our relationship.

Those nights spent side by side, talking about everything and nothing, subjects that didn't necessarily make sense. Not to be alone, to sleep together, refugees in each other's arms. These feelings burst in my chest remain of a terrible insipidness.

Don’t fade.

Time is passing and I have become an expert in the art of avoiding people I don't want to see.

* * *

🎶I've seen you smile

But to be fair I ain't seen you like that for a while🎶

* * *

"Why you didn’t talk to him ?" I asked Pierre while we were naked, lying in my sheets, in my bed, in my apartment.

"I felt like ... it wasn't fair to you."

He hesitated over the words to use. A bit too much. I sighed softly, starting to understand that it wasn't necessarily the truth, that he wasn't telling me everything.

And anyway the doubts that Daniel initiated in my mind remained heavy. I no longer knew what to trust. If I had to totally believe it or doubt it. I was disillusioned and my situation didn’t improve.

However.

However when Pierre appeared at the bottom of my door last night, I hadn’t hesitated to open him, to bring him into my house, to make love to him. It was never just sex for me.

"Not fair ? I feel like you don't care enough about yourself."

"It's the opposite."

The statement left me surprised. I didn’t know what to say. His blue eyes filled with a touch of affection turned to me again.

"You know, you may doubt of it but you mean a lot to me, Charlie."

He kissed my cheek with a softness unequaled until now. I didn’t know how to behave, my own questions tormented me !, and I was much more clumsy than usual.

"Say, Pierre, would you tell me if something was wrong ? Would you tell me about it ?"

"Why talking about this now ?"

"I know so little about you and you, you seem to know too much about me."

My lover shooks his head from left to right, disagreeing with my words which seemed so right to my ears. He then got up, picking up his things before kissing me quietly.

On his features, I thought I saw sadness. A brief grief. But when he went up, in the daylight, as he left the room, I saw arrogance in it.

"There is nothing you should worry about, Charlie. Nothing."

* * *

🎶I been praying for forgiveness

You've been praying for my health🎶

* * *

"I successfully validated this trimester ! My work even attracted buyers, it's incredible ! Thanks a thousand times Charles ! They decided to exhibit it at the gallery, paired with the best paintings of this year ! "

I sketch a brief smile, I haven't really had to give of myself. Just a bit of my time. The rest, he did it all alone, he owes his success only to himself.

"I know this look ... unfortunately. You have the same look as Daniel when he can't interpret a character. You are blocking on something."

"Bingo, Georgie."

I'm having trouble finding the last lyrics I want to assign to the end of my song. Nothing comes to me. That’s the one I intend to present at the Musical Olympia in a few weeks but I continue to grope my way, in the dark.

"What is happening ?"

"I ... I don't know, listen. I was thinking about a lot of things. I was thinking about Pierre and it doesn't ... it stays in my throat."

A ball that has formed. An incessant feeling. Who never disappears.

"He's not a bad person you know. He just didn't have much luck. He faced everything day by day."

"That's what I was told too. I never knew who to believe and now it's already too late."

"Are you sure ?"

I find myself facing a daring look, a confidence that I have been lacking lately. I sigh, thrusting my head in my arms, in despair.

"There was such a moment of emptiness."

"He had his own things to deal with, he's back now."

George puts a hand on my shoulder and I lower my eyes. I can't match my feelings, they keep on buzzing in my head. Too much indecision.

"I heard he was going to present a work to the Concordat. It makes everyone curious, knowing that he hadn't returned anything last year."

"To the Concordat ? A ... text ?"

I almost stammer. Because it’s true that his passion for writing, I learned it only from the mouth of Daniel, not from the concerned. I never saw anything of his phrasing, never saw him write.

"Yeah, yeah. Since he came back, he's been less discreet than usual. Far from the group he was hanging out with. Reclusive with people I'm going to call outcast, though outcast makes no sense here considering the people we rubs shoulders ... "

A feeling of discomfort remains on my stomach and I try to fight this impression. Betrayal reasoned in my mind and never left it again. A word heavy with meaning, acute, difficult to say and to discover. Betrayal.

I lower my eyes to the noted sentences and bring two or three additional ideas to it, although I’m especially eager to change the subject of conversation.

"So what about your work ?"

"An incredible success. The others would have killed to have you as a model, but since you had never accepted anyone, they couldn't believe their eyes ! I was proud ..."

"And Alex ?"

"What, Alex ?"

I roll my eyes. It's impossible to be as blind as he is.

"I don't know, what did he think of the work, where is he ?"

"Well ..."

An annoying subject, definitely. Something happened between them and I would put money on it that it’s because of the painting on which our absent comrade encouraged me to participate, although a gloomy gleam was visible in his gaze.

"He didn't want to show me his works. He said it was different because he was in the drawing and I was in the painting - subtle, really - and that he needed more time. He must be in his room."

This is not the problem. Even if my interlocutor doesn't notice it. I vaguely shake my head, grabbing my phone.

* * *

🎶And I'll keep fighting to believe 

That this is not the end of the story.🎶

* * *

The disillusionment strucks me very quickly after this meeting. It hadn't been enough and everything was already shattering. A reality that was undone in favor of another. The misfortune which always pursued me.

If my conceited spirit appreciated having been chosen to Max, my reason continued to persuade me that everything was not going as well as I thought.

I closed my eyes to this feeling of distress which blocked my senses, which, little by little, devoured everything of me. I didn't know what to do with my own thoughts, I was overwhelmed.

However, on the surface, everything seemed normal. Ideal.

What was hidden beneath the surface always frightened me. At least, it didn't take long before I noticed it. Could we consider this as a success ? 

Probably not, in view of the harm it did to me.

Pierre suddenly disappeared from my daily life. One day then two. Then three. And I was getting impatient. He did not respond to any of my messages and was not even at the Refuge.

I didn’t know his entourage, I could not question them. I had no idea how well he was, what was going on. His silence worried me to the highest degree and irrational scenarios imposed in my mind their own will.

A week made me lose a certain taste for my daily life as well as for my music. I had to find him. I didn’t know how. I then ventured to the building of those called "aspiring writers". We all wanted something after all.

It was not directly here that I found my answers. My research had not even produced anything and I was almost desperate. My love for him was never dead, never completely out of reach. I wanted to keep it quiet, I wanted to make it disappear, but it was clear that it was not as easy as I wanted it to be.

Unsuccessful research and I returned empty-handed to my part of the campus when I heard rather strange noises. My steps had led me to the back of a building. An amphitheatre. A place where few people ventured.

And I found Pierre against a wall, mouth against mouth with a perfect stranger who held him with strength.

Well, a stranger to me, that was certain. As for my lover, stranger would not have been the term I would have applied in view of the activities they seemed to undertake.

I muffled a noise - of surprise - and I immediately turned on my heels, trying in a dramatic way not to fall apart with each step away from this scene. Trying to convince myself that I was fine, that I was fine even.

The feeling that the world had stopped. The feeling of a heart breaking - mine - and that nothing could ever absorb the grief that overwhelmed me right now. I tasted all these feelings on the tip of my tongue, with a hint of bitterness.

"Charlie ! Charles ! Wait, please ! Wait, it's not what you think!"

Pierre had run after me. Turning around, I could detail the purple traces that marked his pale skin, traces that I hadn’t made. He seemed panicked, stunned.

Facing such a stir, I felt almost calm. In the middle of my own shipwreck, invaded by a serenity that I didn’t know myself, I stared at him harder than I had ever been able to do.

"Not what I think ? What am I supposed to think ? Talk so I can laugh a little."

"Charles ..."

"What ? Are you missing of words ?"

My violence was clear. I tried to heal my wound by any way possible. Trying to make the other person suffer seemed ideal, although, in the end, I knew very well that I would not get the much desired satisfaction.

"After all, it's not like, after a week without news, I just found you with your tongue in another man's throat."

"But-"

"If you dare saying that we’re not in a relationship anyway, I swear I’m fitting you into this street lamp."

I crossed my arms, waiting for a word, anything. Something more, something real. An excuse ? A remorse ? What I wanted ...

There were so many things that I agreed to give up on lately that I could no longer tell the difference between what was salvageable and what was not.

"It's complicated. Believe me, please."

"But I thought it was something I shouldn't worry about ? I don't understand, I don't-"

A sob crossed my lips before my sentence was even finished. I felt ashamed. Giving in so easily. My eyes were wet, I couldn't stand this situation well.

After all that I had been told, after so many disappointments, I would have preferred it to be a lie. It was not fair, really unfair. I turned my back on him at full speed, preferring to leave, not to make a spectacle of myself. Without ever answering any of his calls.

"Charles ! Wait !"

* * *

🎶When the gusts came around to blow me down

I held on as tightly as you held onto me🎶

* * *

I walk for a few moments, arriving at the park bordering the campus. Relieved rather, when I notice Alex sitting on a bench. He’s not difficult to see, slouching posture, cap pressed on the head.

I let myself slide by his side and he barely looks up at me. The lake is splendid, a vast blue expanse as far as the eye can see.

"Don't take it badly" he begins, his voice a little muffled "you're a great friend but right now I hate you."

A small smile takes place on my lips. Exasperated. The days go by and are alike for them.

"I thought so. He still hasn't understood ?"

"You would think so."

"It's been two days since our conversation, I was hoping he would wake up."

"And your song, have you write some more ? I heard that you had a problem with lyrics."

"I tinker, I tinker."

Alex continues to stare in front of him until a sniff escapes him. The atmosphere is sullen, very sullen. I understand how he feels. I'm waiting for him to say it.

"I couldn't tell him that decently. I would have dreamed that he would choose me and not you for this project ... I would have liked to be his muse. I feel so silly ..."

"You will have other occasions, I'm sure."

He doesn't answer me and, with an outraged throat noise, he takes out a pocket from his bag, just to his right. Not a pocket, a sketchbook. The technique differs according to the pages but each drawing is refined. Magnificent.

All illustrating George at different times of the day, different seasons. George who smiles, George barely awake, George in shorts, George in hat-scarf-gloves ... and above all a great love that emerges.

"It's exhausting. It's almost annoying that my mind is so much towards him, that I manage to visualize the smallest detail and that it is not rendered"

"It's ..."

"Pathetic ? Yes, I agree. I wish I never ... " he pauses before indicating his sketches with the tips of his fingers "never did that."

I raise an eyebrow, retrieving another sheet. George in a field of flowers. I admire every work, all one by one.

"No, it's beautiful. Transcendent. We see ... we can see how much you love him."

I finish my sentence almost in a whisper and Alex closes his eyes painfully. He seems beaten, defeated.

"It's not enough. I just want to burn it all down. I ... I'm having a hard time to ..."

I'm waiting for the end of his sentence which never comes because, suddenly, he opened his eyes and grabbed my arm. The liveliness of his gaze, and especially the concern that shines there, freezes me.

"I'm not in the best position to tell you that, I shouldn't tell you anything. But I don't think what is said about Pierre is true. I think nothing is, I think that they made fun of him because they wanted to destroy him. Because it was a threat to some."

This long tirade leaves Alex breathless.

"I kept that for myself for a long time and it mays just be an impression but you don't have to inflict that to yourself."

"And what should I say about you then ? You worry me, Alex."

"I will calm down and everything will go back to how it was before."

"Exactly. Don't make it go back to the way it was before ..."

He looks at me. Drops the facade. The sorrow I see there stabs my heart. I feel the same pain, unfulfilled, deep inside me.

And I am simply unable to part with it.

* * *

🎶I had a feeling that I belonged

I had a feeling I could be someone🎶

* * *

It was simply useless to try to convince me otherwise. What I had seen stayed in my head and never left it. And I was trying to live with it and pretend everything was fine.

Because no matter how much it was hurting, life just went on. I didn't want to know anything else.

I showed up at Daniel's almost too big house. I accepted one of the many invitations that I usually declined. A party. I needed time, I needed to do something else, a little. Getting out of the routine that had become so comfortable for me with Pierre and that turned into torment when he left.

I walked through the door with a sigh. I used to party a lot before, in high school, when I started college. Then I had the chance, I was offered the chance, to come here, to the Academy. I was so obsessed with succeeding that ...

I didn't want to spoil what Jules had brought me.

"So you really came." That’s what Max just noticed when he saw me.

He was leaning against the kitchen island, leaning slightly, dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans that followed his shapes. He never seemed to make a special effort and yet always looked good. I didn’t like him.

"I responded to Daniel's invitation."

My answers were neutral because I didn't want to ruin my evening already. Although seeing him was most likely a black spot.

"He invited you ?"

"He always invites me, I was the one who didn't want to come."

His blue eyes were clouded and I just smiled. It was satisfying. Childish but satisfying.

I spent an hour being as sociable as possible. To enchain meetings and discussions, to get a glimpse of my old life, if I could say. Lando and Antonio kept me busy. We hardly heard Daniel slip by our side.

I hadn’t seen the master of the house since the beginning of the evening however. He looked anxious.

"Did you see Max ?"

I shook my head and my British partner, by my side, seemed to remember something.

"I think I saw him come out. He must have gone home by now."

"Shit ... damn !"

The Aussie disappeared towards the garden. We exchanged looks, wondering how to react. So I just stepped forward and followed my friend.

"Daniel ?"

He was in the background, leaning against the only tree. Clenched fists, tight face. He was breathing slowly, trying to calm down.

"What is happening ?"

I put my hand on his shoulder. An almost natural gesture but he immediately released himself, staring at me in silence.

"Daniel ?"

"You don't know when to give up don’t you ?"

"I don't understand-"

The older man grabbed me by the arm, pressing me against the trunk, his mouth on mine. It occurred to me to resist but I remembered the pain I experienced when I discovered Pierre with someone else.

And I remembered the sparkle in Daniel's eyes several times, mentioning Max.

It wasn’t something that everyone else had to know and it was only for us. Unique. I let go of everything, I didn't really care anymore.

"Bedroom ?"

"Looks better."

* * *

🎶tu ne regretteras jamais si tu reviens t'asseoir là où

personne sait mieux que moi ô grand jamais te regarder🎶

* * *

I sit in the little park, right in front of my next building. I write without really thinking about it, a few words in a notebook and nothing more. Sentences that sound good, passages that I see passing before my eyes.

I look up and someone draws my attention. A man, dressed fairly formally, black jeans with a white shirt, stands at the entrance, looking uncertain.

I hesitate for a moment, weighing up the pros and cons. I don't have to go see him.

And at the same time I can't help it.

I close my notebook in a snap, hold it under my arm and go to meet him. His gaze stopped at the establishment where the main classes for student musicians stand.

"Hello ? You ... can I help you ?"

"It's not ..."

He shakes his head, taking time to reflect on his words, annoyed that it doesn’t come to him spontaneously.

"I'm trying to force myself to enter, it's hard enough to want it."

"Force yourself to enter ?"

I stay on a vouvoyer, wanting to avoid being rude. The stranger laughs softly.

"I have to go see an older ... let's say friend of mine who works here. I apprehend this reunion as much as I expect it."

"Who is your friend ? I may know him."

"His name is Lewis, Lewis Hamilton. A great renowned artist."

The nostalgia in his gaze ... makes me think of something else. In fact, they have exactly the same behavior. I feel a bad to interfere in the life of my teacher and at the same time I don’t really go out of my role.

"What is your name ?"

"Oh, my name is Sebastian."

"You can follow me, I'll lead you to him, it'll be easier with a guide, right ?"

My interlocutor is surprised but ends up nodding and I compose myself a neutral air for the rest of the conversation. It doesn’t concern me for sure. So I pack up my curiosity.

Entering the building, taking the right corridor, going to the end of the wing and going through the door. A routine that I memorized well since the beginning of the year. The way to access Lewis Hamilton's class.

"Sir ? Are you available ?"

"Charles !" exclaims a voice from inside the room, testifying his enthusiasm towards me "Come in please, I didn’t expect a visit from you. Is something wrong ?"

I only pass my head in the half-open to see my elder seated at his desk, several packets of papers beside him. Corrections ?

"No, sir, it's not for me."

I watch his face crack with curiosity.

"You have a guest."

I let Sebastian enter. I can see the mood changing from this moment. Something that was not there before, that was missing. Hamilton's eyes literally shine with emotion.

"You came ..."

"Hi, Lewis."

I don't stay too long, obviously intruder in the whole scene. I did a good deed, I know it. I don't even have to convince myself, for once.

I'm not saying how jealous I can be of their situation, although I'm probably a thousand miles from being able to understand it. After all, I have neither their age nor their experience, but does that prevent me from knowing love and its flaws ?

In my mind, a well-known face appears to me. I shake my head.

These reunions gave me material and idea to write. Maybe I finally find all these words I missed ...

* * *

🎶If your world falls apart

I'd start a riot🎶

* * *

I left Daniel's bed very quickly. It was something we wouldn't talk about, that was for sure. My clothes felt almost foreign on my skin.

"Aren't you staying for breakfast at least ?"

My lover of one night was still huddled in his sheets and looked at me still sleepy. I shook my head from left to right.

"I don't think it's wise."

"Honestly ? It won’t make much difference."

We exchanged a look. A laugh escaped me. He wasn’t wrong. I sat on the edge of the bed, watching him get up in his simplest device and put on some thin things.

"I'm gonna prepare you something, come."

It has been a long time since I had such a quiet morning. Pancakes and poached eggs with orange juice that I took out of the fridge.

"What's the matter ? You didn't tell me anything."

"And you didn't say anything to me either."

He was right. We looked at each other, similar, different. There were so many words that never crossed our lips.

"I think I understand. Without you saying anything." he just said, "I think this is a really bad situation."

"No kidding ?"

"No kidding."

The bell at the door made us lift our noses from our plates and we were dragged to the front door. Daniel opened and this morning, which, in perspective, held good hopes, had found itself miserable.

Max stood there, waiting for the opening. Pierre behind him. The Dutch frowned when he saw me, looking almost disgusted.

"What. So it's true."

"Are you genuinely coming to lecture me Max ? I don't think you are in a position to do so."

"I thought it was worthing more than that to you."

"It's funny how everything is going one way for you !"

The argument was growing and I took advantage of it to slide into the street. Leaving them in their own business because I absolutely didn’t want to interfere.

Pierre continued to watch my doing in silence.

"Aren't you gonna say anything too ?"

"I don't have much to say."

The pain was in his voice, in the background of it. I didn’t even understand why. I was still in pain too.

"Anyway, I should have known that it never mattered to you !"

"You never question yourself !"

The splinters of the two lovers echoed above us. We, who were strangely calm in the face of the storm which was unfolding a few steps away.

"Or rather, I can't say anything."

Betrayal !, shouted the two lovers next to us. Betrayal !, cried my wounded and deceived heart. And betrayal !, cried the two blue irises of Pierre at this precise moment.

A disappointment for everyone and a scene that never ended well. I threw in the towel, maybe too soon.

"If you excuse me, I have things to do."

* * *

🎶I've been working my hands down to the bones

Where you gonna be when the money run low?🎶

* * *

I'm in the same bar, on the same stage where it all started. I'm afraid my words will sound wrong, but I try it anyway, it's not like my meager audience will really care about what I’m doing.

I stay on the piano for most of the songs but for at the end of it, I only grab the guitar for the last song.

I print the image that is offered to me. The burgundy curtains, worn at the bottom, the room plunged into semi-darkness - everything always seems brighter on the esplanade - the customers, the bartender.

The guitar is heavy under my fingers. I had to ask a comrade to lend me his, so I take care not to damage it. Especially not.

The chords slide under my fingers, I pinch the strings with precision. An idea that doesn’t disappear from my head comes to my mind and I remain to keep this illusion for a few more moments. Still a little, still a little bit.

" **_Just don't lie in the bed you made yourself and expect me to tuck you in_ ** "

Looking up, I meet another gaze, blue. One that I recognize too well. It isn’t a shock, although I thought I would never see him again here; he has no interest in coming back here.

" **_Because I won't._ ** "

I saw the surprise sparkle in his eyes before I looked away. How long has he been there ? Did he understand that ... that the song was intended for him ?

I no longer know if this music is current, I would say that too much time has passed without anything happening. A gap that I cannot close.

" **_Because I liked the way my fingers played with yours_ ** **.** "

My hands are almost a little shaky. It seems that I no longer am seeking to fill it. But the abandonment sounds too painful to my ears and those evenings when I looked for him come back to my mind.

" **_Yeah I liked the way you make me feel at home._ ** "

I can't do too much. I just bow my head, close my eyes. Some applauses resound and I turn away quickly. Get my material and pack it carefully.

Last trimester, last opportunities before a new year. Nothing much different from last year. Time runs at high speed.

* * *

🎶Even when you broke my heart

I still want you, still want you🎶

* * *

"It's almost like I was too young to be here."

Lando had bitten his lip in a nervous tic. I just shrugged, not understanding where he was coming to.

"You know, you are never too young to be talented. Your photos speak for themselves."

"I never felt like I was talented."

I looked up from my pancakes to stare at him, incredulous. He was by far one of the best photographers of the promotion. His works had already attracted people, no doubt he had a bright future ahead of him.

Whether he took photos for his studies, or just for leisure, it was always strikingly beautiful. Portraits, landscapes ... he excelled in everything.

"You are younger than the majority of people here at the rate of one or two years but it doesn’t matter. It just proves that you are gifted, you don’t have to doubt about it, your shots are incredible."

"I'm sorry, it's just ... I never thought I would get here. I don't even pay for my own studies, I thought ending up on the street and instead I found myself in sunlight, far too expensive for me. "

"You came from England, right ?"

"Yes, I ... yes."

I didn't ask more questions about his family, I knew it was a taboo subject. I preferred to respect his privacy and especially his mourning, having experienced these feelings earlier in my life.

"I worked wherever I could until I was told that I had talent, until I was brought here."

At that moment he seemed more youthful than ever, carrying a weight way too heavy on his shoulders. I tried to pretend not to see the scars that adorned his lower abdomen and those, almost erased, on his forearms.

He lived through difficult days but he was finally here, among us. We had to try to make him live happy days, even a little. George and Alex made a point of being there for him every day. I stared out of the corner of my eye at his hot vanilla milk, a habit apparently.

"That's really it, trust yourself."

"You know, I envied you recently."

This sentence made me stop dead. I didn’t understand why.

"What do you mean ?"

"I always dreamed about finding my muse. I know it's a bit old school to say that but I hate taking pictures of myself and I'm looking for someone ... my someone."

"And so ?"

"It was what Pierre was for you, right ?"

Past connotation intrigued me. I frowned, thinking about what I might have missed in the conversation, but ended up just answering his question simply.

"I believe so."

"What are you gonna do now that he's gone ?"

"He left ?"

"You didn't know ? He went home apparently for family matters. No one knows if he will come back, but everyone is sure he will at least miss next trimester, if not all the end of this year."

"What ...?"

I didn't know, why didn't I know anything about it ? The shock took me and above all, especially the realization. I must have missed my chance to see him again, to talk to him, to explain myself.

A hole seemed to open under my feet. All these missed opportunities and I may never see him again. And I loved him, for sure, I loved him.

I would have held onto him much more if I had known what I could lose. This dull pain in my chest, this unchanging sorrow ...

"Are you okay, Charles ?"

My head was spinning. I forced myself to blink several times, returning to the present moment. Lando didn't need me to make a scene to him.

"Yes, yes."

I smiled at him so that the worry in his eyes would disappear.

"You told me you wanted to travel to Spain as soon as your curriculum ended ?"

* * *

🎶Oh, all the battles that I've won

They don't matter now you're gone🎶

* * *

It's the repetition of an old scene, again. I go out from the back, only to find him waiting in the aisle. Waiting for me. Just like our first meeting.

"I thought I would never see you again" these words escape me "I don't know what you're doing here."

I keep going, not stopping, not wishing to relive the same experience, the same moments, the same despair.

"Charles, wait !"

My hand is drawn back. I turn to face Pierre. Eye to eye. Two lovers at the end of their story, two strangers at the beginning of theirs.

He hasn't changed in a few months, he's doing well. I feel relieved and at the same time more sad. His absence hurted me, despite everything.

He’s out of breath. Her blond locks are almost erased. He’s out of breath and looks at me, expectantly. He implores me with his pupils. Pupils in which I never stop getting lost.

"My name is Pierre Gasly. I am a writer, I try to be one. When I was little, I used to play piano with my mother but my relations with my family deteriorated. I never believed in my talent. "

It draws a smile of disbelief on my face.

"I stood out for what I wrote. I was offered to join the Academy and it suited my parents for whom I was a burden rather well. I had dreams coming here, but they are tarnished one by one. "

His grip doesn’t loosen on my hand, on the contrary, it tightens. He seems to need to reassure himself about his situation. Which he has trouble talking about.

"I couldn't make a lot of friends and here people are stubborn with their talent, their power, their wealth and try at all costs to dominate others. So it was easy to lash out at one new arrivals a little lonely ... "

He closed his eyes. I undid his grip to rearrange it. To really hold his hand.

"The rumors were rife and since I didn’t react they ended up getting tired. I didn’t do much anymore but suddenly you were there and I ... I couldn’t hide myself forever."

"Hide from what ? From whom ?" my voice is just a trickle, a whisper.

"From others, from you."

The wonder that runs through us both. He looks at my hand in his and smiles. His face lits up by something other than sadness. I feel my heart lighter in my chest.

"I never wanted to kiss this guy, I never slept with anyone other than you. Please believe me. It's you, it's always been you, Charlie. "

"You never told me all that ..."

"I ..."

He swallowed.

"The death of a friend of mine made me realize that I didn't want to lose you. That you were different. I took a step back but I know it well."

He plunges his gaze again into mine.

"I know I love you."

It's the last words I needed to let go of everything. Let go of the facade that I've kept on for too long lately. I can admit to myself that I missed him, missed him too well.

"I love you too. I ... I'm sorry, I should have ..."

"Nothing. You shouldn't have done anything. I should have told you about it."

I shake my head, refusing to admit these words. It’s not true. I wasn’t conciliatory, I did nothing to fix things.

His lips find mine with disconcerting ease. 

I'm a little taller, so he looks up slightly. I feel revived somewhere.

As if I found what I had lost.

For too long.

"Your songs ... they talk about me."

"I thought it was the last time I was talking about you."

"Why ?"

"Because you were no longer there, because I didn't want to love you anymore."

He runs a hand gently across my cheek. He seems to be looking at me entirely. Perhaps he doesn’t believe it either, has this impression of daydreaming.

"My texts speak of you too."

"What you are going to present at the Concordat?"

He nods.

"And wouldn’t you make me read it ?"

"No."

I widen my eyes. I didn’t expect him to refuse. He laughs softly when he sees my shock.

"Maybe after his reading."

"But I still have to wait two weeks minimum ! And you, in two weeks sure, you will be able to see my performance."

"It's more than ... it's not totally over. I didn't have the end in mind."

"And you do now ?"

He doesn't answer and just kisses me again. I feel his smile against my lips and I laugh at the newfound inspiration, the happiness that flows slowly.

My bitterness subsides.

* * *

🎶What does it take to be happy?

What does it take to be satisfied?🎶

* * *

We buy a villa by the sea. Which doesn't really serve us because we travel too often. I go here and there, in concert or on a visit, I always take Pierre in my suitcases.

He continues to write always. His books are wildly successful, reaching the top sales, and I see him gaining self-confidence, step by step.

His novella which won the Concordat stares at me out of the corner of my eye. I still haven't read it, I have given myself some time and I wonder if one day I will read it. After all this isn’t what I expect it to be.

Many have told me that it was of an unexpected beauty, concealing dark and deep emotions. I was also told that it was about me.

I don't know if I'm ready to immerse myself in such introspection.

I spend my days with Pierre, and I must say that’s enough for me. Plunging my gaze into his is an immediate assurance of how he’s feeling and how I’m feeling. Of a love that has never stopped.

And yet, the situation is reversed compared to our first years. Where I was impatient to read it and him reserved. Now I am undecided and he hopes to see me every day with his writing in hand.

The greatest tribute he has ever done, perhaps the best thing he has ever written.

I don’t think this is true. To have read many things of his hand, to have accompanied his uncertainties and his doubts, I know that he has yet to come. That his talent is in constant motion.

I smile. My grand piano takes pride of place in the living room as a sign of a bygone era and I sit there with pleasure.

My fingers scroll over the keys and I can hear Pierre coming home and slipping himself behind me, kissing my neck.

"Hello, Charlie."

* * *

🎶Oh boy,

your eyes betray what burns inside you🎶

* * *

Lando settles down next to us, the shining gaze, the scars on his arms have completely disappeared. I offer him a sweet smile.

"So is that true ? Did you patch things up ?"

"Patch things up ? We can say that." Pierre answers before turning to me, placing his lips on mine.

The youngest lets out a small noise and, before we can detach, draws his camera furtively.

"Lando ?"

"Sorry, old habit, I couldn't help it."

"Are you going to present something at the gallery ?"

"Of course, of course, I'm not unemployed !"

"Normal, we are still students."

The British boy rolls his eyes at Pierre's teasing, but finally smiles again when he sees Alex entering the cafe. He screams for him.

"Hi, guys. Are you okay ?"

"Of course, what did you decide for your work ?" I ask directly, still worried about his situation.

"I gave a few so that it could be exhibited for the end of the year. I have no idea how George will react though."

Over the table, I put my hand on his. He has nothing he should be afraid of. His drawings are magnificent.

"He can only feel honored, your pencil stroke is incredible, Alex."

"I would like to have your optimism !"

"It's not optimism, it's the truth !" Lando added almost immediately, tit for tat "Do not demean yourself."

And while facing the eyes of the youngest, Alex quickly melts. I watch them with tenderness, it isn’t an everyday scene and I like to witness it. Pierre is almost a little behind,  content to observe us from afar.

"You okay ?" I ask him gently.

He nods, love overflows from his eyes.

"I like to see you so happy."

I have never felt myself blushing so quickly.

* * *

🎶I wanna stay inside your arms

I want to feel fine🎶

* * *

It's a gray day. A little too gray but it is especially one of the days where we had a bit of freetime.

We did the road carefully. Pierre held my hand during the travel and finally here we are.

The stele looks at me.

I place there the bouquet of flowers that I bought a few times ago. The tomb thus decorated seems to regain some vitality. Nothing that will ever match his presence and nothing that will never fill my grief.

"Jules, I present to you Pierre. The one who shares my life. The man I love."

Pierre seems to hesitate to leave me alone and I shake my head, tightening my grip on his hand. I speak for a while, letting out a few words that will remain forever unanswered.

I bow a last time in front of the altar before leaving.

"Jean Cocteau said that : the real tomb of the dead was the heart of the living."

"I know this quote. Didn't you have somewhere to go too, Pierre ?"

He smiled softly, tilting his head on one side. A flash is visible in his eyes, a flash that I don't understand.

"No. I'm right where I should be."

* * *

🎶And to know you is hard, we wonder

To know you, all wrong we were🎶

* * *

"You are incredible on this artwork you know ?" asks Pierre.

We are again in front of this painting by George so proudly displayed and I am still as disgusted about it. It is magnificent, but paradoxically I cannot stand its vision. I shrug my shoulders.

"I don't like this painting."

"I thought you would say that."

It sounds so obvious on his lips and I wonder how he managed to understand me that well. It is surprising. Impressive.

"How ?"

"The impression that emerges from this painting ... I would say that there is a great distress in it. Sadness and melancholy mark your features, chéri."

"I thought you had let me down, I had the right to feel that bad ..."

Chéri ? Did he call me “chéri” or did I dream ? Butterflies are growing in my stomach. The face of my French flickers a little.

"Sorry, Charlie. Sorry again."

"No it's me" I mumble "I shouldn't have brought this out especially considering the circumstances. I didn't know your point of view at all."

He watches me, with tenderness, then comes to press his lips against mine simply. I respond to the kiss, finding immediate satisfaction in it.

"Shall we continue the visit ?"

I nod and grab the hand he holds out to me. Soon we get what I came to admire. First Alex's drawings, then Lando's photos.

Several are displayed. Different angles, different points of view. It gives me the impression of a story being told to me. It’s spectacular. But I stop in front of one in particular.

The most recent. The last. It’s in black and white but the focus is clear. It's us. Our lips barely moved away from each other, our eyes deeply immersed in the ones facing us.

"We are celebrities apparently."

_ Love. _

A terribly fair title.

"I can't believe he posted it without asking us."

"He must have forgotten, knowing him."

We exchange a look, almost hilarious.

* * *

🎶I was born for this, born for this

It's who I am, how could I forget?🎶

* * *

One day, I decide to finally get down to work. I have nothing to do, free time for once, and Pierre isn’t at home.

Lando no longer responds to my messages and I know I may disturb Daniel if I call him now. Alex is also not available.

I sigh, wandering around my own house looking for an activity; of anything to do.

I prepare a hot chocolate and settle in the living room, curl up on my armchair, facing the bay window. It’s raining outside and the sound on the glass spreads in small * ploc *.

I take a sip, lost gaze on the asphalt, thoughts in disorder, going by without the slightest sense.

Out of the corner of my eye, the novella of my lover tempts and calls me.

I grit my teeth, returning to my observation of the landscape, the lawn of our garden, the trees further, the few flowers that Pierre decided to grow an afternoon suddenly and-

Oh well.

I grab the block of sheet of paper. There aren't too many pages, reading won't take me that long and its author will surely be delighted to know that I’ve finally read it.

_ Him. _

The title makes me shiver. So sober, so simple and yet so powerful. Evocative and I can do nothing but let the words scroll before my eyes.

_ The first time I saw was not memorable. Memorable is not a good term, is never a good term. Breathtaking is already better. And it’s what he is for me. Breathtaking. _

_ I barely met his gaze during this evening. And what evening, will you ask ? An evening full of disillusionment, lies, ending in a bar a little grotesque with some unfriendly people. _

_ Ruminating on my despair, I suddenly saw him. On stage and my heart - my heart stopped beating. Barely a few seconds. I lived again, I saw all that I had lost for a long time. A goal, an escape. An angel fallen in the shallows. _

_ And maybe I'm exaggerating. All this makes sense only in my amazed eyes after all. How to describe the passion and the warmth of the first embers foreshadowing a majestic fire to come ? _

I can't believe what I'm reading. I can't believe it and soon my eyes fill with tears. The emotion is such that it strikes me down on the spot.

What an idiot I am.

When I go through the last few lines, I almost don't react quickly enough to my liking. My hands are shaking when I grab my phone. My choice already made.

"Yes, hello. Yes. That's right. I would like to see what you have to offer."

* * *

🎶The road is long, we carry on

Try to have fun in the meantime🎶

* * *

I sit on one of the auditorium seats. The place that was chosen for the final performance. I am in the last rows, aisle side. Pierre, by my side, put his arm around my shoulders.

A question comes to my mind as the room fills slowly but surely.

"Tell me, Pierre, how did you know so much about me ?"

His face is turned towards the stage but not enough so that I don’t see the redness present on his cheeks.

"I ... I inquired. I asked Max, although he reluctantly answered me, Daniel and Daniil."

"And did you have precise answers ?" I ask, curious.

"Nothing too personal. Only who you were, your age and background."

"But I don't know Daniil ?"

"But that doesn't prevent him from knowing you. Many know you as a little prodigy, Max's rival, that sort of thing ..."

He shrugs, a chuckle escaping from his lips. These are the kinds of things that I don't really care about and he also doesn't seem to believe in it very much either. I also realize that I was wrong.

"Oh, oh ..."

He gives me a questioning look and I shake my head.

"I was born in Monaco, I grew up there. In a fairly strict family. I had to study properly, have a good job ... meet so many requirements. Of which I didn’t want to. "

His hand moves slightly on my shoulder. Like a caress. His way of comforting me.

"Jules was the first to teach me the piano. He was in the Academy before me, very talented. One of the best musicians who entered it. With him ... I discovered that life was not just studies, that I could do something else ... with my hands"

The lights go out and I wonder for a moment if I should continue but the gaze of my partner encourages me to do so.

"I wanted to join the Academy as soon as I could. I ended the studies I was pursuing and, against the advice of my family, I managed to be taken. Jules was the one who encouraged me most, but just before I go to campus, he had ... "

I close my eyes, the picture is painful. I feel his lips pressed against my temple with an affectionate gesture.

"He had a car accident. Very serious. He arrived at the hospital in critical state and died two days later. The piano in my apartment was his."

There is a moment of silence. The scene is lit and Daniel appears in the foreground in his costume. A play always as striking but his gaze seems to brush the crowd for a moment, looking for something, someone.

I spot it quickly. Max is seated at the front of the stage and watches him, with bright eyes, a loving face.

"I understand what it feels like. Anthoine was ... one of my first readers, first friends too. He was the one who encouraged me to make myself known a little more, it’s all thanks to him that I’m here. "

His hand is shaking and I cover it with mine.

"He died of an overdose and I didn't even know ... I was a terrible friend."

And in a way, these dark secrets which kept us underwater for so long, which made us suffer, are lighter in pairs. And in a way, we understand each other.

Our hearts are freer than before and it is strange to say that we are going better when we still suffer. We’re ready to live with that. It never goes away, it almost became part of us. Mourning. The death of a loved one.

How our passions started and how they are perpetuated again and again today, even if some left us on the way.

"I'm glad you told me about it." adds Pierre with a soft smile on his lips.

"I'm glad you told me about it too."

We exchange a look and I snuggle up against him. Our eyes are directed on the piece that is being played and on the scene where Daniel shines brightly.

* * *

🎶Darling, don't be afraid, 

I have loved you for a thousand years🎶

* * *

"Thank you for coming."

"Stop being so formal my love !" exclaims Pierre, raising his eyebrows "Although it has been a long time since we have had dinner in such a restaurant."

"That’s true."

Socialites have exhausted us and in the end a meal facing each other, with a few candles seemed ideal for us. As long as we were together, as cliché as it sounds.

"Is it champagne ?"

"We can afford it I think ? Or you are going to do the accounts in the middle of this date ?"

"I'm too busy enjoying the moment to do it."

A smile of satisfaction stretches my lips. I put my hand on his. The atmosphere is warm tonight, the air is soft on my skin.

The chosen table is on the terrace, outside, standing apart from the others. There is view on a lake. The landscape is magical. I know I did well to choose it in view of the tranquility it inspires in me.

"Are you nervous, Charlie ?"

I immerse my gaze in his. Always the same clear blue, in which I can lose myself for hours without wanting to. He has blue eyes and so blue. Magnificent.

"I try not to be."

I bury my hand in the pocket of my gray trench. Take a deep breath. Before dragging the red velvet box onto the table.

"This is ...?"

"Open it."

The surprise is sparkling in his eyes. Pleasant. He observes the gold ring with a certain emotion which I understand when he looks up at me.

"You didn't do that ... oh my god."

"I had to, I ... I read your novella. I read it."

He smiles at me.

"And how did you find it ?"

I shake my head. The table separates us, otherwise I would have thrown myself into his arms. I try to keep calm but it's hard, my voice trembles a lot.

"Pierre Gasly, would you do me a favor and marry me ?"

* * *

🎶We can go if you wanna go anywhere

I'll take you there🎶

* * *

"What is your novella about ? You still haven't really told me ..."

Pierre lets out a stifled laugh, almost embarrassed. Daniel behind us raises an eyebrow.

"I know."

"Shut up, Daniel. I'm at least waiting for the results to come out."

My French seems almost annoyed by saying that and I know that it matters a lot to his eyes, that it’s the first work he really presents at the Concordat. I kiss his cheek tenderly. He’s nervous.

"Maybe we should go back to the hall right ?" offers a boy I recognize as Esteban, painter like George, "It's just an offer."

The newcomer chews his lip but I nod. He is right, it is time to attend the awards ceremony. I grab my boyfriend's hand and drag him with me.

Sitting in our seats, I keep his hand in mine. His gaze is right on the jury, he is tense.

"It's a story that talks about us" he whispers to me, without looking at me any more "But it also talks about me, about my quirks. It talks about what you made me feel, in many ways. "

"But why didn't you want me to read it ?"

"I'm afraid you find it ridiculous."

"Are you kidding ? Did you see my songs ? I wish I knew what you were doing, at least once."

He tightens his grip on my hand and displays a somewhat uncertain, hesitant air, as if he is resolving.

"I'll make you read, I promise."

"I am only waiting for that."

Or I'm not sure. Because it seems to affect him, I also don't want to make him uncomfortable. I am so absorbed in my thoughts that I almost miss the announcement. Which however takes place before my eyes.

" **This year's laureate is Pierre Gasly.** "

His expression breaks down in disbelief and he gets up almost too quickly. I stabilize him to keep him from tripping and smile at him. He advances between the rows and I follow him with my gaze, watching him pass between several rows of people I know.

He passes in front of Lewis Hamilton but also in front of Alex and George who are sitten further or Antonio, a sculptor whom I met during my first year.

I see him joining the stage to receive his award and I feel proud. Really proud of him.

* * *

🎶Lately I been, I been losing sleep

Dreaming about the things that we could be🎶

* * *

"Should we invite Lando ? And Alex ? I would like to invite Dany if you allow me ?"

Pierre is even more enthusiastic than me about the approaching wedding. He's almost exhausting and at the same time it's so comforting to see him so happy. 

"Of course, the ones you want." I answer gently, watching him unpack the envelopes.

"Are you sure ?"

"As long as it makes you happy I think I'm not going to object on anything. Well, almost nothing."

He walks over the table to kiss me. I run my hand over his cheek tenderly.

"I would like to know your rare exceptions."

I smile absently, rechecking the list on the table, using a black pen. I go through it carefully.

"Shall we invite Daniel ?" wonder my fiancé suddenly.

"Of course."

"Do you know that necessarily means inviting Max ?"

"I already planned an invitation for him."

The surprise of my companion is pleasant to see. I don't have much to hide from him, I don't hide from the fact I’ve overcome this rivalry. It was a long time ago.

"You impress me, sweetheart."

"Have you already chosen your best man ?"

"I still hesitate. You ?"

I shake my head from left to right. We spend the whole afternoon in our preparations which are, well, tedious. I never knew there was so much work, what a mistake I made to come so unprepared.

It’s a little late when I look up from the documents. Even more documents. A soft air is played from Pierre's speaker.

He enters the living room, step by step, before grabbing my hand and lifting me up. A little noise escapes me but here I am standing. We start a kind of awkward dance.

I just stick to him, against him, letting the music guide us. The lights are dim and there is only us and I hope to stay in this sphere of happiness forever.

Pierre spaces himself a little, just enough to be able to look me in the eyes and his voice is hardly louder than a whisper.

"I love you, Charles" the simplicity of his words makes me blush "You are the most magnificent person I’ve ever met."

* * *

🎶Don't matter how long the road

Gonna be a better me when I get home🎶

* * *

"I did it, I’m certain you can do well !"

He trusts me so much that it's hard to disagree with him. He offered me what I needed, he went seeking for the stars to give them to me in a necklace. I smile, really close from crying.

"I know, my love, I know, it's just ... damn it, I'm nervous. I feel like a lot is expected of me."

"So what ?"

Bewitching blue eyes, always the same. He kisses my two cheeks, clear and concise, so serene compared to me.

"Don't forget, angel. You don't care about others, you don't even have to care about me. The most important thing now is what you are going to do there right away. The most important thing is that you please to yourself, nothing else. "

It sounds so simple when I hear his words. I somehow feel relieved, acknowledging that he is right. I draw him to me, wanting to kiss him one last time before I go on stage.

I have already been here, I have already done Olympia last year but this year seems very different, with so many issues I don’t even understand.

"Thank you, Pierre, thank you. You always know how to find the right words."

"Everything for you, Charlie."

" **And now please welcome the next student; Charles Leclerc.** "

I take a deep breath, my steps lead me to the light. Everything's gonna be Alright.

* * *

🎶I've got time, I've got love

Got confidence you'll rise above🎶

* * *

I no longer have a knot in my stomach, like my first times, I became a regular. But I would say that this buzz never goes away. This excitement, this need to see the crowd, to realize what we are going to do.

There are people all around me. To prepare me, make sure of what I’m wearing, of my make-up, make sure everything is fine.

Before me the doors open and I breathe softly, the nostalgia does not leave me. I make my emotions my weapons and if, today, I can talk about everything I would have liked before, it brings me some pride.

I sit at the piano, the room is full, people have come to see me. I close my eyes for a moment, breathing in the smell of new things. The curtains are dark red, gold bindings carefully affixed to them. The parquet is waxed.

I compare this scene to what I used to do, when I was student at the Academy, and a small smile appears on my lips.

Far from everything we traveled, as close to the unknown as possible, uncertainty, fame. A place that has never been my home. I was born with a clear-cut destiny and I tried to deviate from it all my life to get to this moment.

I still have a way to go and I think the most reassuring thing in this kind of situation is knowing that this path will not be done alone. My dreams come true.

I saw you enter with the firsts. I see you now sitting in front of this large room, your pretty blue eyes riveted right on me, without fail. Our eyes meet, you smile at me and I lower my head.

This only lasted one instant for us, a simple instant during which we were no longer a talented musician and a renowned writer who would meet again very quickly but just two men whose hearts were beating in unison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I created some kind of a new serie here, intituled "not art, but chaos". If you've been aware, you may have found some references to Lando's story in this one but it is a work mostly independant. 
> 
> I really liked writing it, for the simple reason that it's been a long time I haven't write at the first person's POV and I found in it some emotion. I hope you do forgive me if I made some mistakes, english is not my native language.
> 
> I had few scenes in mind and I continued, I continued again and again to write. It was really pleasant. I loved creating a whole universe around the Academy, and I liked that these two fragments weren't on the same timeline. This would probably not be the only fragments, I hope you enjoy this work, maybe a bit too long !
> 
> tumblr : laeana (i ofter do covers if you wish to see it)


End file.
